Unskinny Bop
by Fleet Sparrow
Summary: Hiroto Honda thinks about his one true love--the motorcycle--and how it came into his life.


Well well, two for two. Not bad for one night. This one takes place in the same day as the other one-shots, right before Ryo's paradise is inerrupted and Katsuya's freedom is delivered. I don't think I can cram anymore into this day (though I'm trying--I'm working on one for Anzu), but I'm going to continue these "inspired by songs" stories. I'm not sure what good listening to the song while you read this will do for you, but it can't hurt, right?

I don't own the characters or the song "Unskinny Bop", which is owned by Kazuki Takahashi, and Poison/recording company that keeps rights, respectively. I _do, _however, own The Man.

One warning: The Man does not have the cleanest mouth (not unlike Otogi). He only swears once here, but it's enough.

* * *

Music was blaring out of giant stereo speakers. Soda was shaking in a can. Popcorn was flying through the air. Air guitar was being played as loud as possible. This could only mean one thing.

Oh yeah. Hiroto Honda had the house all to himself.

He loudly sang along with the chorus of the song blasting through his speakers, a feat that even the dreaded auto-tune would be powerless to correct.

Hiroto grabbed a handful of popcorn and flopped onto his bed, pulling out a motorcycle mag.

Man, these bikes were sweet.

He had wanted a motorcycle for as long as he could remember.

A guy at his dad's work had one, once. He remembered his fascination with the thing and the way he had asked the man a million questions about it. How did it work? What did it ride like? How did it feel? Did he _really_ belong to a motorcycle gang?

The guy had laughed and offered the ten-year-old a ride. Hiroto thought he'd died and gone to heaven. The wind rushing by him as they raced down the street was exhilarating, a thrilling high he never wanted to come down from.

And when he got his first motorcycle, he decided he never would.

He worked on that thing all through high school, getting it as perfect as he could. The poor thing was far too old, however, and too worn out, but he worked to make it last as long as it could. When it had finally died, he sold it to the junkyard with tears in his eyes.

Working at the garage all summer had been the perfect opportunity for him to hone his skills. He worked on all sorts of cars, trucks, and motorcycles. That's how he met The Man.

The Man was the friend of the garage-owner's son. He came from a fairly wealthy family in Kyoto and owned a motorcycle collection for fun. He occasionally raced at large meets. One day, he brought one of his older bikes into the shop. When Hiroto first saw it, he thought he had fallen in love.

It was a beautiful machine, shining in the midday sun. It was a classic motorcycle, back when they were made for style as well as power. Hiroto only faintly heard The Man talking with his boss as he walked around the bike, looking over every metal inch of it. He was only recalled to reality when The Man said, pointedly loud:

"Hey, Kurasawa. Tell your new boy to quit eye-fucking my bike, will ya?"

Hiroto looked up quickly, and fell back into line with the other mechanics, all of whom were too shy to go up to the sacred motorcycle.

"Hey, you lot! Get back to work! We got other cars in this damn shop," Kurasawa shouted to his employees. They all began to scurry back to what they had been doing originally, before the boss decided to yell some more.

"Honda! Not you."

Hiroto froze at the sound of his name, and slowly turned around. "Yeah, boss?"

"C'm'ere."

He walked forward, standing on the other side of the bike from the two men.

The Man looked him over for a moment. He looked to Kurasawa. "You say he knows something about bikes, do ya?"

Somewhere, angels were singing.

He fixed that bike up like it was his own. He cared for and polished it like it was his own metal child. When The Man came back for it, he was not disappointed.

"You do good work, kid," he had said, revving up the bike. "I'll bring my others here when they get a problem. Call me if you wanna race one of these." He gave Hiroto his business card and zoomed out of the shop.

_The Man_

_I'll stick it to YOU!_

Yes, The Man knew how to make friends.

When Hiroto showed up at The Man's racetrack for the first time, The Man offered him the bike he had fixed to ride.

"Let's see if _you_ trust her," The Man had joked.

He'd never seen a racer that happy.

Half a dozen races later, The Man finally challenged Hiroto to race him.

"If you win, I'll sell you that bike," he had said, only half joking.

Hiroto won.

And The Man sold him the bike.

And Hiroto thought he'd died and gone to heaven and fallen in love with one of those singing angels.

Hiroto put down his magazine and finished his popcorn. He should take her out for a ride. When Yugi had phoned him to tell him that he couldn't go to the arcade that day, Hiroto had just shrugged it off, more disappointed at not being able to show off his new bike to the gang than the fact that Yugi cancelled.

He sat up sharply.

Jonouchi needed to see it!

Grabbing his keys and helmet, he tore out of his room, almost forgetting to shut off the stereo. Jonouchi would die seeing that thing.

And, Hiroto thought fleetingly as he revved up his motorcycle, he should be the first one to see it anyhow.

* * *

Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.


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